


The Act of Love

by Anonymous



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Anal Sex, M/M, Mentioned Lee Taeyong, Mentioned Nakamoto Yuta, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:33:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28995288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The biggest act of love done by a god is to let themself be laid bare, open and at the mercy of their loved one's hands.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 3
Kudos: 91
Collections: Anonymous





	The Act of Love

**Author's Note:**

> *confused noise* when did i make this

The biggest act of love done by a god is to let themself be laid bare, open and at the mercy of their loved one's hands.

Gods are beings of power and pride; to be vulnerable and rendered weak in the hands of mortals need too many things to sacrifice, but also too little things to gain in return. The rule give and take doesn't work fairly and squarely in the relationship between a god and a mortal, but that doesn't stop Mark from giving his beloved mortal all that his immortal self owns.

Johnny Suh is a nice man. He's chivalrous and trustworthy, a tad bit too good for the world he lives in. He was appointed as the leader of the King's number one regiment, and was given the highest title of knightage, the Holy Knight, when he was twenty five. Now, at the prime age of twenty seven years old, Johnny Suh has made a big name for himself, and is turning into a finer and much sophisticated man.

Mark couldn't take his attention away from him, since the first time he had laid his eyes on the mortal. Love at first sight, _how cliché_ , even for gods. _Especially_ for gods, who had seen and known better.

It was Yuta who first got to be acquainted with Johnny. Mark knows—he has watched the man from a far countless of times. Yuta, with his love for spiking adrenaline rush and his adoration of the ringing clashes of colliding metals and deafening war cries, had dubbed Johnny as one of his favorite mortals—for one obvious reason. Because if there's something a god of war loves, it's the pungent metallic scent of blood and if there's something a god of war respects, it's a courageous and strong warrior who never loses.

Johnny is a strong, courageous, _handsome_ warrior who never loses. Mark mulls over the fact like that was the only one thing he has ever learnt of. It doesn't help the small flame lit inside his stomach, growing hotter and brighter at any moment he spends his time visiting the mortal realm to see the man.

Relationships between gods and mortals are not frowned upon. Every god has done it at least once in their eternity of lifetime. Mark definitely had, decades and centuries ago. He remembers that one time, with a fit and broad young man so pretty he resembled the stars and an impressive skill on his hips which always succeeded in driving Mark towards completion. It was a several-times fling, just like his other relationships with mortals, but it's so unforgettable. At the end, when the man married the one he loved, Mark blessed them with fortune and wealth, and wished them happiness in their marriage.

With Johnny, Mark imagines himself to be the one accompanying him on the altar.

Sexual relationship between gods and mere humans—immortals and mortals—might not be frowned upon. But to have a deeper, more complicated feeling? Nothing is much more forbidden and taboo for gods than to _love_ humans. It's also like giving yourself away to a definite ending filled with heartbreak and sorrow, which would also mean showing _vulnerability_ , and gods are not supposed to be vulnerable to the mortals' eyes.

To take a bite on the forbidden fruit is all Mark has wished for.

And he takes it. A bite, and then two. Two becomes four and four becomes _one again_ —before he knows, he has taken more bites than he can chew. One whole, red-colored and temptation-filled fruit of forbidden feelings swallowed completely, leaving only the inedible core and a tiny, almost unnoticeable guilt buried deep within Mark's conscience.

Mark falls, and mid-air, he questions himself. Would Johnny catch him before he reaches the ground? Or would it be the cold, hard ground that met him, cradling him close like how the sea had embraced Icarus after his failure of reaching the sun?

Johnny, ever so trustworthy and assuring, snatches him mid-fall and embraces him tight like he would never let Mark go. Mark loves a little bit more, and the voice of reason inside his head protests a little louder.

( _Mortals are not meant to be forever_ , a voice resembling Taeyong reminds him. _You are setting yourself up for quite a painful heartbreak, Mark_.

 _When are heartbreaks ever painless?_ Mark wants to ask. He also wants to hurt, wants to be petty, so he fires back. _Don't forget that you had also done what I am doing now, Taeyong. I saw what you went through, and I sensed how wrenching it was. But that would never stop me, and you know that yourself_.

The voice of reason in his head quietens. Mark basks in the victory, but he also revels in early, premature heartbreak of what is yet to come.)

Mark watches Johnny from a far again. This time, Johnny is standing tall and proud in the front line, clad in armor which covers his skin and holding both a heavy sword and a big shield on each of his hands. Mark is a god, and gods fear nothing—but for once, Mark feels a heavy churning in his guts and uneasy throbs in his chest. His hands itch to reach Johnny, to whisk the mortal away from the dangers awaiting him—but the rule is that immortals should not interfere in matters concerning mortals.

So, Mark watches. With bated breath, with heavy heart, with worry brewing inside his guts like a sudden thunderstorm in the middle of summer.

He _waits_. And it's worth every gazillion things, because it comes to fruition.

When Johnny wins and the whole regiment goes to celebrate their victory with a huge feast and popping open several racks of wine bottles, Mark slips into Johnny's room. He sits on the edge of the cold bed, eyes taking in his surrounding and fingers playing with the soft fabric of the sheet. Johnny walks in several moments later, eyes clear and totally sober, blinking owlishly to Mark's direction with great confusion and wariness.

"Who are you?" He asks, straightforward and no-nonsense. Mark cautiously gives him a small smile—not too wide and not too cheery, just a touch of softness and allure but enough to drive men to their knees. He knows he's ahead when Johnny lets his guard down, and he realizes he has won when Johnny sends him a smile back.

"I'm Mark," Mark whispers, like his name is a secret meant to be kept by just the two of them, "and you, Johnny Suh."

Johnny hums, pleasant rumbles of baritone from deep inside his chest—and Mark's heart jumps. With the moon as an only source of light inside the dark room, and a ray of silvery light dripping Johnny in beautiful glow, nothing looks quite as breathtaking as the sight in front of Mark's eyes. And when Johnny flicks a matchstick to light up fire for the oil lamp, the warm gleam shines on all the right points and curves of Johnny's face, also leaving tracks of shadows to take place in between dips and slopes—creating a gorgeous effect on Johnny's handsome features.

Mark is in love, that much he knows.

"Mark," Johnny drawls, familiarizing the name on his mouth—with a voice so sweet and sticky like honey, warm like a fireplace in wintertime. The deep and heavy tone sends flurries of butterflies to crowd inside Mark's stomach, and the look he gives Mark heats him up inside and out—hooded eyes, bright hazel turned dark brown, glinting under the flickering yellow light.

Such a fine, gorgeous being to ever be created. No wonder, all the eyes are directed towards him, even the eyes of the immortals up above.

Mark doesn't like to share, though. Not if it's about something he loves. _Especially_ if it's in the form of one Johnny Suh.

"What are you doing here, inside an unmarried man's room, nearly in the middle of the night? Surely if people were to hear about this, your dignity would be tarnished."

A silence follows, one filled with the whispers of wind-blown grasses and the faraway noises of bugs. Mark hums, standing up to gracefully move closer, stopping only when they stand face-to-face, Mark peering up at Johnny through his eyelashes and Johnny looking down at him like he's going breathless. Mark raises his hand, palm brushing the revealed skin of Johnny's bulky arm in feathery touches. It delivers a slight shiver through Johnny's looming frame, goosebumps breaking on skin and dark brown eyes darkening even further into pitch blackness.

Something exciting slithers down Mark's spine. His eyes droop in a surge of arousal, and his breathing turns heavier and hitched.

"No dignity will be tarnished if the things we do here stays in here," Mark breathes out, stuttering slightly when Johnny's big palms and long fingers are clasped around his wrist and on his waist. The fingers move relentlessly, rubbing the skin to sensitivity and thumbing just at the right places with the right amount of pressure. Mark sighs out a trembling exhale, melting way too quickly into Johnny's chest as the mortal yanks him closer.

"So, a clandestine illicit affair? Am I to become your dirty little secret?"

"When are affairs not a secret?"

Johnny laughs at the answer, and flowers bloom prettily inside the cave of Mark's ribs like Persephone's garden. Johnny's laugh is beautiful. Mark would love to hear it every time, every day, every second of time. The way lights are dancing in his eyes, and the way his gorgeous lips are stretched into an attractive smile—and _oh_ , Mark is already gone so _deep_.

"But no," Mark murmurs as his hands reach Johnny's nape, dragging him down so his lips can hover above Mark's awaiting ones, "not a dirty little secret. A handsome tall secret, _sure_ , but neither dirty nor little."

Breathless laughs shaped more like hitched exhalations slip out of Johnny's slightly open lips, before Mark tiptoes forward and catches the beautiful full lips with his own.

Johnny's lips fit Mark's like a long-lost jigsaw piece. It's plush and warm and tastes distinctly like Johnny, like bitter herbs and spices and sweet-sour citrus. When Johnny's lips trail down his chin and further down to his neck, it's burning and tingly. The bites he leaves feel more like brands, purple and red littering his skin like swipes of paint forming an art on a blank canvas. Johnny sucks particularly hard on the juncture of Mark's neck, and Mark staggers out a not-so-composed breath.

"Beautiful," Johnny whispers out flurries of compliments, hands wandering to touch the skin under Mark's clothes and mouth once again devouring Mark's agape lips. Two pairs of swelling red lips slot against each other, and when Mark moans, Johnny slips his tongue inside the hot wet cavern.

Johnny encircles his arms around Mark, hauling Mark on top of his lap as Johnny takes a seat on the bed, back leaning comfortably at the headboard. Mark winds his arms around Johnny's neck, fingers gently gripping at the man's hair to tug at it softly. Johnny lets out a muffled groan, and Mark smirks into the kiss.

Then Johnny's hand trails further down, grasping onto the soft mounds of Mark's ass—and Mark gasps, wet and hiccupy, hips jerking and chest curves outward. When Johnny starts to knead, Mark turns into putty in his hands.

" _Please_ ," Mark breathes out, _whines_ , eyes glimmering from the unshed tears and lips swollen, red-bitten in between his teeth. His eyes stare straight into Johnny, in hope for the man to start taking action. It must have worked, since Johnny growls and begins to tear open Mark's clothes. Heated skin meets the cold air, mottled in red and purple from Johnny's bites and flushed pink from the cold air. The change of temperature causes his nipples to harden, and Mark can feel Johnny staring at them with a hungry gaze.

"You beg so prettily, how can I refuse?"

"Then don't. Come on, toss away your clothes. It's not fair how I'm the only one bare with no skin covered."

Johnny laughs, but makes no move to rid himself of his excessive clothing. Instead, his fingers trace Mark's skin in light touches, sending his sensory into chaos and lighting up fire under his skin. There are flashes of pleasure running down his spine, but Mark can only focus on the fingers moving closer to the waistband of his pants.

"Johnny, _please_ , I–" Mark sobs, hips jerking and stuttering to hump into anything. His teary eyes seemingly tug onto Johnny's heartstrings—or maybe it makes him more aroused, if the way his cock twitches inside the confinement of his pants say so.

And then Mark gives him a lewd look; the one where his eyes get bigger and wet from tears, peering up from beneath a curtain of eyelashes. His lips are pulled by his teeth into an innocent lip-bite, nibbled raw and red and shiny with saliva. His flushed cheeks in pretty pink and the honest tips of his ears colored red.

Johnny takes a sharp inhale. Mark revels in triumph.

"Pretty sweetheart," Johnny bites his reddened ears, nibbling and gently tugging at the tip. The sensation causes Mark to gasp, cock twitching as it drips precum to the fabric of Johnny's top. He squirms desperately in Johnny's hold, and whimpers when Johnny's teasing doesn't relent.

The second time Mark sobs, Johnny tsks, pulling his clothes up and away, before unbuttoning and unzipping his pants to yank it down and throw it to the floor.

Johnny is attractive. He's all broad shoulders, defined pecs and abs, bulky biceps and strong muscles. There's something absolutely enthralling about him—the almost delicate features on his face contrasting with the sharp jaw and smoldering eyes, and also with the built body. His cock is red, the head pink and the shaft veiny on one side. There are beads of precum spurting out from the tip. It's as pretty as the rest of Johnny's body, and Mark once again wonders about him.

"What do you want to do, _love_?"

Mark feels his heart flutters like no other, an effect only Johnny could cause to his body. With hazy eyes and heart so full of love it could burst, Mark ruts onto Johnny's cock, twitching and shuddering everytime the tip of his cock drags onto Johnny's, and the head of Johnny's cock nudges to the underside of his. Johnny breathes heavily, but then his fingers move to grasp Mark's hips firmly and effectively stopping Mark from moving.

"I need your words, love. Tell me what you need, and I will give it to you," Johnny whispers, mouth moving near his ear to press kisses to the skin under Mark's ears, a place so sensitive it draws a violent shudder from Mark.

 _Your heart, I need your heart_. "I want you to fuck me."

Johnny huffs, amusement covered by and dripping with clear, unveiled arousal. The fingers wander once again, going past the cleft of Mark's ass to teasingly rub the rim of his hole. Mark jolts, a loud yelp ripped out of his throat into a high-pitched moan. Johnny chuckles, extracting his hand to reach for a bottle of lubricant from underneath his pillow. He flushes dark red when Mark looks at him all impressed.

"Every man has their own urgent needs, okay," he grumbles, flicking the cap open to lather his long fingers in clear viscous liquid. The excitement doubles in Mark's veins, and he can't stop rutting into Johnny's thighs. Johnny clicks his tongue, before suddenly, Mark can feel his ass cheeks sting.

" _Behave_ , love," Johnny reminds him, before apologetically rubs and kneads on the reddening skin.

As Johnny slips a finger into Mark, Mark sighs. Taut muscles that were strung up like a bow relax in the man's hold, continuous shiver flits down Mark's spine like he was doused in melted ice, not quite warm but also not too cold. With quick works of skillful fingers and searing kisses peppered on his face, Mark is ready.

The first initial push is penetrating to the deepest of his core, not uncomfortable and never painful. Gods can not feel pain—unless other external factors are included in the equation, like being stabbed with another gods' weapon, for example—but Mark can feel an insatiable burn of arousal crackling inside his body, hot molten lava coursing through his veins and ceaseless tingles spreading under his skin like wildfire. It triples and quadruples when he catches a glimpse of Johnny's face, the ruby-tinted cheeks and deep-furrowed eyebrows, trembling arms cradling him and lower body twitching against his utmost control.

Then Mark pushes back, and Johnny stutters out a loud, rough moan, trying to still himself. Mark presses even closer, bare legs thrown around Johnny's waist to make him slide deeper. When Mark swivels his hips, Johnny's self-control crumbles into dust.

"Just like that," Mark coaxes, feeling his inside opening up to make room for Johnny's cock, hard and thick and heavy, filling him and grazing all the right places. Johnny grunts, the controlled thrusts getting messier and his deep concentration seemingly breaks into tiny pieces when Mark tightens. Mark groans when Johnny goes slower, with deeper strokes and languid pulls, long drags rubbing into Mark's walls in delicious friction. His fingers reach down to brush on where they are connected, where Mark is stretched wide by Johnny, drawing a sharp inhalation from Johnny and punching a strangled gasp from the hollow of Mark's chest.

"You're so good," he pants, scrambling to find a hold on Johnny's broad back. His nails catch on Johnny's scarred skin—a product of war, the trophies of his victories—and his eyes flutter shut.

Like this, Mark lays himself bare, _vulnerable_ , at the mercy of the mortal whose being he loves, heart he yearns, and touches he craves.

Mark leaves Johnny at the cusp of dawn, when the sun barely peeks from the horizon and the cold air nips the skin of _his_ mortal mercilessly. Mark raises the warm blanket to cover Johnny's _warm and breathing_ body, gently prying the strong clutch from the fabric of his robe. Mark leaves Johnny with temporary traces of himself on Johnny's skin, just like how Johnny has left non-permanent brands scattered on his skin in forms of bruises and bites. When he stands, his lower back burns deliciously—another form of reminder that he has been marked by the mortal.

Gods are not supposed to love more mortals. They are not supposed to give their hearts willingly to a creature so strong yet so weak, able to defy gods and yet dies so easily, like withering plants late in autumn. It takes way too many sacrifices. It could leave even the strongest god weak and helpless.

 _Love_ is not only humans' greatest weakness. It's also gods' biggest downfall.

Mark bared himself open last night, and in the morning when the sun rises and the world comes back to life, traces of his vulnerabilities are still left behind in Johnny's room. All the sacrifices have been made. It's up to Johnny now, to do whatever he likes to Mark's heart.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written at the span of four hours. 1 am to 5 am filled with anguish and restless anxiety, passed like a blur and a dream, all because i chose to procrastinate my papers by writing this—whatever this is. please forgive me, i don't know any better. and forgive the quality of this. i don't know any better.


End file.
